Broken Idols
by Maya Perez
Summary: It takes but a single moment to change every thing that has gone on before. This is John and Sam's moment, where illusions are broken and idols become merely human. Weechesters
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

John jammed the shovel back into the ground, scooping up another clump of dirt out of the growing hole before him. He was in a small glade, set back off of a muddy, country road. A place no one would give a second glance to, if they didn't know what to look for -- the symmetrical placement of the widely spaced trees, the Morning Glory vines and flowers which had spread and thrived there over the years. The site hadn't been made by nature, but by man. And it'd been here so long, it had become almost completely forgotten.

The Impala's headlights lit up the area, letting him go about his work. Grains of rock salt glittered in the light from where he'd systematically poured them out in a large circle beyond the ring of trees, giving him an area big enough to work in.

He wiped at the sweat forming at his brow despite the night's coolness, the cloying scent of the Morning Glories mixing in with the stench of his labors. John had taken steps, not wanting any more interruptions. He wanted to get this over and done with.

He was running late. And he hated being late. He'd estimated this job would be finished about twenty hours ago, but he'd been wrong. The location of the gravesite had proved illusive and the ghost he was trying to get rid of a lot more attuned with his surroundings and also way too stubborn about staying on this plane.

John jammed the shovel back into the ground again, letting his pent up frustrations help speed him along. If all went as it should, and he broke a few speeding laws, he might be able to make up some of the time on his way back.

He'd been away from the boys too long. Being gone from them a day or two he could handle. Even with the fear that always nipped at the back of his neck when he wasn't with them, the 'what if's' running rampant on the things which could go wrong while he was gone. But the job needed to get done. And the danger was low if he was only gone a short time. He'd drilled all he could into Dean until his eldest son could virtually recite what to do under any possible situation in his sleep.

But John still worried. Always worried. He knew the statistics. The longer his sons went unsupervised the higher the likelihood something might happen. And he knew his boys. He'd been able to pound some patience into Dean for the hunt, but on anything else his son had the tolerance of a gnat. Sammy didn't mind being indoors, but even he had his limits. Children needed sunlight, they needed to be outside, they needed to play. Cooping them up for too long was unhealthy, and he knew it, but he didn't have much choice. Not if the work was going to get done, not if people would be saved from the things hiding in the night.

And leaving his sons with anyone else was _not_ an option.

The shovel plunged hard into the dirt.

The few people he'd grown close to since the loss of his beloved Mary would argue the point. Had argued the point. On one or two occasions he and Bobby had almost came to blows. It was harder to do with Pastor Jim, but the mounting silences had amounted to much the same. They both thought they knew what was best, but they didn't. They just didn't understand the danger. These were his sons! He couldn't afford to take the risk.

But he also couldn't bring them everywhere with him. The work he did was too dangerous to involve them in…yet. The incident with the shtrigga had taught him one could never be too careful – that the evil could be smart and track him as well or better than he could them. So though they all traveled together, he kept his sons always a town over from where the trouble lay. This way no matter what happened, the creatures or the evil he was trying to deal with wouldn't impinge on them or try to use them against him.

Plus John needed his sons. They were his one weakness, but also his greatest source of strength. He could see pieces of Mary in them. They were the only remnants of her he had left. He'd be lost without them. They grounded him, kept him in the world. Otherwise he would burn himself from within with rage and his need for vengeance and cease to be.

Though on some late nights, when the booze was flowing more than usual and the memories came hard and cut deep, he sometimes doubted they would be enough to keep him from self destructing.

How many nights had he stayed awake just so he could watch over them, study them while they slept and make sure they were safe? To convince himself he had not lost them when he wasn't looking.

Brutal nightmares visited him when he hadn't seen them for too long, his fears building in his subconscious like a disease the longer he was gone from them. The raging doubts that came and went about whether or not he could ever keep them safe from what was out there. He'd failed his wife, but he would rather die than fail his sons as well.

His shovel struck something metallic. Good, soon this job too would be finished, another evil gotten rid of – making sure it would not destroy another family as his had been destroyed. He glanced at the protective circle around the area to make sure it was still intact. The gasoline and salt he'd need were in the duffel at his feet. In fifteen minutes tops it would be over.

A familiar revving sound echoed in the glade. The Impala's engine had turned over.

John looked up in surprise, knowing the keys were still in his pocket.

The headlights grew brighter as the car shifted into gear and headed in his direction.

Salt rings had never been meant to keep out 3500 pounds of moving steel.

Swearing, John dropped the shovel and ran toward the nearest tree.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sam glanced away from the TV and the antics of the Animaniacs to look over his shoulder in the direction of the beds. He spotted his older brother stumbling toward the bathroom. It was the third time in the last hour. It wasn't something Dean normally did.

Now that he thought about it, his brother had been acting a little weird since lunch. He hadn't even given Sam a single noogie all day. Not that he wasn't happy about _that_. Who in their right mind would enjoy getting knobby knuckles rubbed on their head while their attacker yelled "A noogie a day keeps the boogey man away!" at the top of his lungs anyway? But it just wasn't like him.

And Animaniacs was Dean's show anyway. Sam liked it okay, but his brother loved it. He would sing the song at the beginning at full volume every single time, unless their father was present and then at only slightly lower volumes, but not today. He wasn't even sure if his brother had even watched the Pinky and the Brain segment. He didn't sing their song either. And he could normally expect Dean to keep asking him the 'are you thinking what I'm thinking, Sammy?' gag for a half hour after at least.

Sam got up and turned off the TV. He might only be ten, but he knew his brother. Something wasn't right.

"Hey, Dean?"

The bathroom door was closed most of the way. Muffled sounds he couldn't quite figure out trickled from there and they didn't sound pleasant.

"Dean-o, you okay?" Sam headed in that direction wondering what could be wrong.

The motel room wasn't that big. It was one wide open room with a small table and chairs plus the TV in one corner, two beds against the right wall, and a table with a portable stove by the semi enclosed entryway. Sam made a habit of keeping a journal of all the states they went to and the towns they visited as well as the hotels, but he'd almost not added this one. Though it'd been the best their Dad could find close to where he was going to go hunting, it was also one of the worst places Sam recalled ever being in. The room _smelled_ -- it was like Dean's stinky socks on a wet dog rolled in cigarette butts then sprayed with Lysol. The mini-fridge only worked half the time so their drinks were never cold, and if Dean hadn't mucked around with the TV and made them an antenna from a hanger in the dumpster and some foil, they wouldn't have been able to watch anything while having to stay there waiting for Dad. The mattresses were even lumpier than sleeping outside! Dean even said so and he could fall sleep anywhere, so if he complained, it was bad.

Sam heard the toilet flush then the sink running. "Dean?"

"I hear you. I hear you!" The door swung open. "Damn, can't a guy take a piss in private around here?"

Sam felt a smile tugging at his face at hearing the usual half teasing half exasperated tone. Things were all right. "I'll tell Dad you were swearing again."

What relief he felt though, melted away as he looked up at his brother's face as the latter came out. Dean looked pale, and his brother never looked pale. Even his few pimples were an odd color. There were also dark circles under his eyes, like those Dad got when the hunt went bad or he'd been drinking after thinking about Mom too much. Something was definitely wrong.

"Dean, you sick?"

"Sick of you calling me, Dean-o, pudgy."

Before Sam could dodge, Dean put him in a headlock. No knuckles were brought to rub hard against his head, however, as his brother grunted in pain when Sam's head connected with his stomach. An acrid smell clung to Dean's clothes, which made Sam gag. Was that vomit?

He pinched the nerve on Dean's elbow and slipped out of his grip and stared at him. "You _are_ sick!" He felt a sense of uneasiness sour his stomach. His big brother never took ill. Never.

"Like you don't tell me that everyday." Dean smirked at him, but the amusement didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Dean!"

"Oh come on, Sammy." His brother reached over and mussed with his hair. "Don't be so serious. It's no big deal."

Sam pulled away, trying hard not to pout. He hated it when Dean tried to keep stuff from him. He was more than old enough to know things now. "I don't believe you."

He heard his brother sigh. "I just ate something rotten, okay? I think the potato salad went bad. It's no big. Honest."

Sam sent a questioning look in his brother's direction. "Really?"

Dean's brows went up. "I swear. Winchester honor. I'll just take a nap and sleep it off, okay? Then I'll be as good as rain. Think you can do without me that long?"

Sam snorted. "As if!"

Though he'd never tell him, Sam felt a lot better with the reassurance. He grabbed a coloring book out of his bag and moseyed over to the table to draw, so it would be quiet while his brother tried to sleep.

He watched Dean get into the bed nearest the bathroom with a contented sigh. Sam hoped he really would be okay. Maybe Dad would make it back before Dean's nap was over. Their father wasn't normally this late.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sam squinted, looking up from his drawing, realizing the room was growing dark. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was only after four. Setting his crayons down, he crossed the room on his heels, walking silently as he'd been taught, to check what he could see out the window. Dean was only a lump beneath the covers. Sam knew he'd gotten up at least twice more in the last hour, but had gone straight back to bed each time without saying anything.

Moving the curtain aside, he spotted dark banks of clouds moving quickly across the sky. Bright flashes of light jumped from one to another. A storm was coming in.

As he watched, rain began to fall. Within a few minutes, the water was falling so thick he couldn't see the parking lot. The room grew dim and he was forced to turn on a lamp. The air turned cooler, the window condensing inside with humidity.

Sam didn't like storms. "Dean? You awake?" The lump on the bed didn't move.

The rumble of far off thunder reverberated from outside. Sam swallowed hard and shuffled over closer to the bed. He could barely see the top of his brother's head through the coiled covers. He gently pulled on the top to move it a little away from Dean's face. His brother's cheeks were flushed, his mouth open, his breath coming in and out as if he were struggling to get air.

"Dean?" Though his brother was all wrapped up in blankets, when Sam touched his forehead, it was hot.

His brother's eyes fluttered open at his touch. "Sammy?" His voice was raspy. "Everything okay?"

Sam bit his lip. "Storm." He frowned as he noticed his brother's eyes grow unfocused for a moment. "And you're not better. And Dad still isn't here and he hasn't called." Plus it was dark, and thunder was coming, and there would be lightning -- things that made him feel small and afraid.

"Thirsty…" Dean's eyes half closed, his tongue licking his lips. Sam saw it was white rather than pink.

"I'll get you something." He ran around the bed to the mini-fridge. Grabbing a lukewarm Pepsi, he rushed back. He struggled with the tab for a moment or two but finally got it open.

There was a change outside, the rain now splattering hard against the windows, making a drumming sound.

"Dean, I have the drink for you! Dean?" He shook his brother's shoulder when he got no response. That weird feeling was back in his stomach stronger than before.

His brother's eyes opened back all the way. After a moment he struggled to sit up against the backboard. Sam waited, trying hard not to fidget, holding the can in both hands. Dean threw the blankets off as if he were hot, then reached for the drink. He chugged it down with barely a breath between swallows. A large burp forced its way out of him the moment he was done. "Thanks, Sammy." His hand shook as he handed the empty can back.

"Should I call Pastor Jim?"

A flash of light lit the curtains from the outside followed closely by a window rattling boom of thunder. The rain lashed against the glass as if wanting to get inside at them.

Dean licked his lips again. Sam thought his eyes looked sunken, the dark circles beneath them more pronounced than before. "He's…he's four states over, but…yeah. Maybe he's heard-" His brother's face suddenly turned green and before Sam could ask what was wrong, Dean was off the bed and hightailing it to the bathroom. He slammed the door closed.

Sam stared the way he'd gone with wide eyes, that sour feeling growing inside him. Dean was really really sick. They needed help. Making himself move, he went around the bed to reach for the black phone on the nightstand. For a panicked moment his mind went totally blank and he couldn't remember it. When he remembered again, he mouthed Pastor Jim's phone number over and over to make sure it wouldn't go away again. He picked up the receiver, listening for the drone noise so he could dial. There was nothing. He waited and waited, but there was no sound. He tried to dial anyway, yet it made no difference. The phone was dead.

He put the receiver back on the cradle. Lightning lit the room from outside, the thunder rattling the windows with a vengeance. Sam jumped, startled. That one had sounded really close. "_Dean_?"

A lot of his nightmares had storms like these. He didn't know why that was, but he'd paid attention. Bad things happened when the weather was mean. He jumped across the bed over to the bathroom. He opened the door without knocking.

Dean was sitting on the toilet, half bent over with arms wrapped around his stomach, tears streaming down his cheeks, his face screwed up with pain. Shock froze Sam's expression, never having seen such a thing before. His brother was tough -- tougher than anyone, except for their Dad. And he never, ever cried.

Dean spotted him and instantly wiped at his face, turning as much as he could away from him. "_What_?!"

Sam struggled to make his mouth work. "The, the phone's not working." His nose curled as the stench of diarrhea wafted over toward him.

"Fine! Try again later." Dean kept himself turned away from him. "Now go make yourself some dinner and just leave me alone!"

"But, Dean…"

"_Get out_!"

Another blast of thunder made him jump as he shut the bathroom door. Tears stung his eyes, but he brushed them away. He wasn't a little kid no more. Dean was sick. He had to be brave. He had to help his brother. But how…?

Sam stared at the stove. He wasn't really hungry, but Dean had told him to eat. Not knowing what else to do, he did as he was told. He used the hand opener on a can of Spaghetti O's with meatballs and scooped a few spoonfuls into a bowl. They would taste better hot, but he didn't want to mess with the little stove, not with it being so close to the windows and the thunder and lightning. He had a feeling Dean wouldn't notice so could get away with it.

By the time his brother finally came out of the bathroom, Sam had finished eating. Dean stumbled to the bed and sat down, then glanced his way. "Wipe your mouth, it's got goop on it."

Sam looked away, feeling guilty about forgetting, but after seeing his brother's face he was even more worried about him than before. A flash of lightning hit almost simultaneously with a barrage of thunder and then the lights went out.

The room went pitch black. Sam couldn't see anything. He hated the dark. "_Dean_!"

"Calm down! I'll come find you, okay?" The sound of rustling came from across the room. Then a loud thud. "Shit…"

"_Dean_?" The panic nipping at him spiked.

"I'm okay, Sammy. I just. I'm too…" Dean's hesitation was thick, full of things he obviously didn't want to say. It only made Sam more afraid. "Can you, can you come to me instead? Just get on the floor and crawl over. Go slow."

Lightning lit the room a moment, so Sam was able to get his bearings and head toward his brother. After a couple of minutes his hand ran across Dean's. It was cold and clammy.

"Hey, Sammy. You made it. You okay?" Sam heard Dean's teeth chattering.

"Fine. But you…"

"Bed's right here. I just need you to help me up." He squeezed Sam's hand. "Think we'll go to bed early today."

"But, Dean…"

"Everything will be all right when the phone and lights come back on. It's just a storm. I'm okay. It's no big deal, Sammy. No big deal." The words tumbled out quickly as if he were trying to reassure them both. "We can _do_ this."

Sam inched forward and grabbed Dean to help him get up on the bed, knowing the whole time his brother was lying. Things were not okay. It _was_ a big deal. But what to do? What could _he_ do?

The moment he got Dean up on the mattress, Sam felt the blankets being grabbed up, the sound of his brother's teeth chattering echoing loudly.

"Dean?"

"It's okay." A cold hand searched for his arm and when it found him pulled him close. Sam went willingly and hugged his brother, hoping to give some comfort even as he took some for his own.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sam hadn't meant to fall asleep, he really hadn't. He was sure Dean needed him, even if he didn't know for what. He felt around in the dark until he ran across the lump that was his brother. Dean was turned away from him, his blankets anywhere but on him. Sam sidled closer to him. He stopped when his hand touched the sheet bunched beside him and he found it wet. His hand came away with an odd smell, salty and something not good, though he couldn't say what, other than it just smelled wrong.

"Dean?" His brother said nothing. Sam didn't think he moved, though in the dark it was hard to tell. The power must still be out. Everything was black. He didn't think he'd ever been this unable to see before. He didn't like it.

Sam had no idea how long he'd slept. He sidled toward his brother some more despite the weird scent and reached out to touch Dean. His brother's chest felt hot, too hot. He was also covered in sweat – it had that same salty and bad smell like the sheet. Sam remembered a really bad cold he'd had a year ago and realized his brother had a fever. Fevers weren't good. Sam's face scrunched up as he tried to think of what to do.

When he'd had his cold his Dad had given him medicine and had made it go away. But what kind of medicine? He sat up and half turned in what he hoped was the direction of the hotel room's foyer. Their father kept all the medicines and anything they weren't supposed to mess with in his bags. He'd dropped the duffels he didn't think he'd need for the job on the short table shelves by the door when he left. If something could help Dean it would be in there.

"Dean, what medicine is for fever?" His brother didn't answer so Sam shook him a little. When he still got no response, he shook him harder and repeated the question. "You gotta tell me!"

"Uhm…fever? You have a fever?" Dean sounded confused, his voice barely audible.

"What do you take for that?" Sam tried not to let his desperation show in his voice. He was growing more frustrated and scared by the second. "You know, right?"

"'pirin…As..pirin…"

Sam sighed with relief. He knew that word. There were commercials for the stuff all the time. He should have remembered that. "I'm gonna go get some, okay? I'll be right back."

"Mmm…"

Sam slid off the bed and onto the floor. Only the soft patter of the rain against the windows accompanied him as he crawled down the length of the bed then went on in what he hoped was the direction of the front door. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he was glad of that. He'd had more of the storm than he'd ever wanted already. Now if only the lights would come back on.

As he neared the foyer, he hoped his father wouldn't be mad when he found out Sam had crossed into no man's land and looked for the medicine. He knew why they had rules, that they were there to keep them safe and alive, but Dad wasn't here and Dean was sick, and Sam had to do something! He would take the spanking gladly if that's what it came down to. Anything to get his big brother back to normal.

He felt the carpet change to slick linoleum beneath his hands and knew he'd reached his goal. Within seconds he'd arrived at the short shelves. Sam stood up and reaching around blindly found and unzipped the duffel. He eased his hands inside trying to find what he thought the bottle would feel like. He glared a moment at the darkness, knowing this would be so much easier if the lights were on. He almost found himself wishing for the lightning to come back.

A flash of light immediately followed by a booming crash shook the room and made Sam scream at the unexpected assault. Sam, the duffel, and the shelves fell over as he half jumped and jerked his hands toward his face to stop voicing his fear and inadvertently brought the duffel with him. The noise of something breaking and of others bouncing off the linoleum filled the air, but Sam barely heard them, the too close thunder still ringing in his ears.

The scent of All Spice wafted up thick around him and made him think of his father. Tears sprang to his eyes again and this time didn't stop them. He wished with all he had to see his Dad walk in through the door right then. When he did Sam would leap into his arms to be enveloped by rough worn leather, the scent of All Spice mixed with old sweat, a ten day old beard raking against his cheek. Then all would be made well again. All would be set right.

But the door didn't open. No one came in. It was dark and humid and only the rain made any sound. Sam started to cry. He covered his face, trying to bottle it inside, knowing he was too old to do it, but too scared and lonely at the moment not to, and he didn't want Dean to hear it. His brother was sick. Sam had to be the strong one this time.

After a couple of minutes, he moved his hands away, hiccupping lightly. His leg felt wet were some of the All Spice got soaked up by his pants. Several bolts of lightning then lit up the room in succession. Sam spotted the aspirin bottle but a couple of inches from his hand. Giddy with thanks, he grabbed it then inched backwards away from the mess on the linoleum and the pieces of broken glass.

He held the bottle in an iron grip as he crawled his way over to the mini-fridge to get him and his brother something to drink. He shuffled back on his knees, trying not to flinch as more thunder and lightning inundated the night, though the flashes of light helped him stay on track. He opened and set the two drinks on the nightstand, then fought with the aspirin bottle's childproof cap until he got it open as well. He pulled out two aspirin and then put the bottle on the nightstand by feel. Taking a deep breath, he waited for another flash of lightning to make sure where his brother's face was.

Touching it with his free hand, trying not to think about how hot and clammy his skin felt, Sam moved up close. "Dean, I have the medicine. You need to take it. Dean?"

Not waiting for a response he felt around Dean's face until he found his brother's mouth. He moved Dean's lips apart and slipped the aspirin inside. He reached back for one of the cans of soda, then hesitated not knowing how to make his brother drink let alone swallow the medication.

He could feel his chest tightening in distress as he tried to figure out what to do and came up empty. "Dean, come on. Help me! Dean, _please_!"

Aside from a low moan, he got no response.

Eyes burning, Sam found Dean's mouth again and stuck his fingers inside to keep it open. Running the can down the side of his arm, he then tipped it can until he felt the slight stream go past his fingers and into his brother's open maw.

He was worrying about how much to give him when his brother started chocking. He grabbed Dean's shoulder and half shook it. "Swallow, Dean. Swallow!"

Sam stared hard into the darkness, fear keeping suddenly him frozen, as it occurred to him that instead of helping him, he might have just killed his brother instead.

A cough and a gasp told him Dean was alive. Sam bent double, his relief so acute it hurt. The can of soda fell from his fingers to the floor but he never noticed. Sam grabbed his brother with both hands and buried his face in his sweat soaked shirt and sobbed. When a shaking hand stumbled over his back onto his head, it only made Sam cry all that much harder.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

John jerked awake, sore muscles screaming at the sudden movement. His hand automatically reached for the .45 tucked away in his jacket. The feeling that something was wrong was so strong he could almost touch it. Cold sweat covered his face and made him shiver, even as his highly attuned senses tried to pin down what brought all this on.

The outside was dark and finally quiet. He'd driven into a bad set of storms on the way back and had been so tired and the visibility so poor he'd almost driven off the road once or twice. He should have called the boys to let them know he was on his way back once he finally dusted the damn ghost, but had been in too much of a hurry to get back and then the weather had caught him. Having little choice, he'd pulled over to the side to wait it out and must have inadvertently fallen asleep. He loved this car, but for sleeping it was a poor substitute for a bed. He massaged his stiff neck, still trying to pin down what had him so keyed up out of nowhere.

He turned on the interior lights for a moment and checked his watch. It was five am. Still not seeing or feeling anything untoward around him, he started up the Impala. He needed to get back. He needed to make sure the boys were safe. He was positive that it was what these feelings were all about anyway. He'd been gone away too long.

The car's headlights showed toppled trees, blown off branches, wind stolen lawn chairs, tipped over trashcans and more as he raced down the road. The storm had done some damage. He turned on the radio to listen for news reports not daring to think of what heavy winds might have done to the cheap roadside motel where the boys were at. His foot pushed harder on the accelerator.

Forty minutes later, he turned into motel's parking lot. The place didn't look too much the worse for wear, large puddles filling the bad pits in the blacktop, leaves and trash strewn randomly on cars and pavement, everything looking wet and drab. The car door creaked in the familiar telltale sound as he opened it, the scent of rain heavy in the air. John pulled himself out of the Impala with a groan, his abused muscles aching and the plethora of new bruises he'd received courtesy of Mr. Evank's ghost making themselves clearly felt.

He glanced in sympathy at the front of the Impala, the old girl not having come through this latest hunt unscathed. The front fender was dented hard on the passenger side, and he was pretty sure the radiator was leaking. Once he made sure about the boys and got some sleep, he'd have to see about giving her some well deserved TLC.

With a half limp, he made his way to number 23.

The door was locked, as it should be, so he knocked on the door in the pattern they'd all memorized and then inserted the room key to let himself in.

The door hadn't opened far before he knew things weren't right. The scent of All Spice hit him like a slap in the face, drying streaks of it all over the linoleum as well as broken glass. The box of bandages and the suture kit were sprawled on the floor and so was a plastic bottle of alcohol. His duffel and the shelves it had been sitting on were on the ground and blocked the door from opening all the way.

From his narrow vantage point he could see an open can of Spaghetti O's left uncovered on the stove and dirty dishes piled beside it. An empty Pepsi can lay on the carpet a dark trail leading from where it had at some point been hit and rolled across the room.

His youngest sat up from a totally disheveled bed rubbing at his face. His features were puffy as if from crying and he was fully clothed rather than in his pajamas. His shirt and pants had stains showing in several places. Of his other son he saw no sign.

Exhaustion, worry, and a smattering of growing ire hung on him as John shoved his way inside, glass crunching under his shoe's thick soles. "Dean!"

Sam scurried off the bed. John gave him a glance over, looking for obvious wounds or bruising. Nothing seemed out of line. He let his gaze sweep past him to what he could see of the rest of the room still looking for any signs of something actually being wrong aside from Dean having turned totally irresponsible. "Did your brother leave you here alone last night?"

"No, Dad." Sam looked aghast. "The, the lights went out, the phone wouldn't work. I couldn't call Pastor Jim. And…"

John stomped over to the closed bathroom door and banged on it. "Dean, get your ass out here now!"

He turned away and quickly checked out the rest of the room making sure the weapons and protections were in their usual places and that nothing else was messed up. He frowned when he found the mini-fridge door completely open.

Sam was at his elbow the whole time, pulling on his jacket. "Dad, it's not what you think. Please listen to me."

The bathroom door creaked open. John turned in that direction, his temper bubbling. Of all the things he thought might have been wrong, this kind of irresponsibility was the last thing he would have imagined. What if Sam had walked barefoot onto that glass? And what had possessed them to be messing around with the duffel in the first place? They knew better than this. He'd made sure!

"Dad, listen to me!"

"Later, Sammy. I need to deal with your brother first." John headed back across the room.

Sam trailed after him. "But, Dad!"

"I said _later_, Samuel." He glanced back at his youngest son to make sure he understood then turned back to face the half open bathroom door. "Dean Winchester, front and center, now!"

"I'm here, sir."

John froze, the sight that met his gaze as his son moved out to lean against the doorframe not at all what he expected. Dean looked like some sort of ghoul. His face was drawn and pale, his eyes sunken as if they were being absorbed by his face. His hair was flat and plastered against his head, his clothes disheveled and stained. Dean's eyes were bright, too bright, as if lit from within. Even from there John could smell the stench of vomit and sickness coming off him.

"_Son_?" John's gut clenched, feelings of doom and failure washing over him like acid.

Dean tried to smile but it only made him look worse. "Welcome home, Dad. Sorry for the mess." His eyes suddenly rolled upward and he started to slide toward the floor.

John leapt forward to fall on his knees and was able to keep Dean from hitting the ground. He scooped his son up in his arms and struggled back to his feet. He could feel the heat coming off Dean's limp body through his shirt. "Sam, we're taking your brother to the hospital."

His youngest stared at him with wide fear filled eyes.

"Son, I need you to move the shelf and duffel bag so the door will open fully. Be careful of the glass. I need you to hurry and do this." His youngest just continued to star at him. "Now, Sammy." A bit of bark laced his words. He felt guilty as his son jerked as if he'd hit him, but was grateful that at least it got him doing as he asked.

Once at the car, John slipped Dean into the back seat. Sam slipped past him as he pulled out of the doorway and crouched in the floorboard grabbing the edge of his brother's shirt.

Speed being what was needed at the moment, John left Sam where he was rather than make him sit in a proper seat with a seatbelt. Closing the door and getting into the car, he turned the engine over. With a squeal of tires, he backed out of the parking space and headed toward the nearest hospital.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

John rubbed at his face, feeling drained and numb. The emergency room personnel had taken one look at Dean and immediately whisked his son away leaving him to fill out paperwork.

It felt like an eternity ago. And they'd yet to hear anything.

He let his gaze travel to his left to check on Sam. The ten year old had been strangely quiet and brooding. His posture was stiff, what he could see of his face blank. For the first time he noticed that his son had seated himself as far away from him as the bench would allow. It wasn't like him. "Sammy? You okay?" His son didn't move, didn't look at him, in no way acknowledging he'd even spoken. "Dean's going to be fine."

That earned him a momentary look he couldn't immediately interpret. Mostly because he'd never seen it on his son's face before – anger mixed with disbelief. It shocked his tired brain as if he'd put his finger in a light socket.

"Mr. Douglas?"

John continued to stare at his son, flabbergasted, not realizing for a moment that someone was talking to him.

"Sir?"

"I'm sorry. Yes?" John stood up, turning his back on the anomaly his son had become not sure he could deal with it right then on top of everything else.

"I'm Doctor Cole. I've been treating your son, Dean."

John's gut clenched again. "How is he?" The doctor looked concerned but relaxed, his posture confident. Yet despite the telltale signs that things weren't too serious, John needed to hear him say the words.

"We think he had a bad bout of food poisoning. The diarrhea and vomiting from it led to dehydration. We've got him on an IV to get him rehydrated and medications to help with the first two. It was definitely a good thing you brought him to us when you did."

"So he's going to be okay?" Sam was suddenly at his elbow. The need and hope in the simple question made John look away, his eyes burning, knowing the feelings only too well.

"Hey there, little guy." The doctor scrunched down to Sam's eyelevel. "Are you Dean's brother?"

"Is he going to be okay?" There was a little more force behind the words this time, making it clear there was nothing more important than an answer to the question.

Cole gave him a wide smile. "Yeah, he's going to be all right. Dean's going to have to spend a day or two here so we can make sure everything goes back to what it needs to, but, yeah, he's going to be fine." He patted Sam on the shoulder.

John breathed out a soft sigh of relief.

"Can I see him?" This came out in the normal shy manner more typical of his youngest.

"You bet!" Cole stood back up. "You both can." Smiling, he led the way to Dean's room.

The moment the doctor cracked the door open and they could see the figure in the bed, Sam jumped forward into the room. "Dean!"

John stopped just inside the doorway. Cole let the door close, staying outside, giving them some privacy.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean lay nestled in stark white sheets, his left arm showing a tube snaking away to a metal stand with a half empty bag of fluid. The sunken look to his eyes was almost gone, only dark shadows showing he was still ill. There was even a little color in his cheeks, despite the sheets' and walls' efforts to diffuse it in their white blandness. Sam clung to the railing, just staring at his brother, tears in his eyes. Dean gave him a half smile.

John took a step forward.

Dean's gaze rose as if only now realizing they weren't alone. "Dad…" His face sobered. "I messed up." His lips trembled. "I'm so sorry…"

John felt embarrassed that his son could feel this bad over something he'd had no control over, but was heartened by it as well. It reaffirmed to him the fact he could trust Dean to keep Sammy safe. "It's not your fault. Just a lot of a bad luck all at once is all. It's all right."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam glance at him with the same angry disbelieving look as before. It confused him. What was going on? "Samuel?"

His youngest ignored him.

"Is something wrong, son?" John came closer.

He noticed Dean glance from one to the other, perplexed.

John put his hand on Sam's shoulder only to have him shrug it away.

"What's wrong with you?"

The odd look turned into an outright glare. What had happened to his innocent chubby ten-year-old son?

"You wouldn't listen. You _wouldn't_!" His face scrunched up and turned red, as if his son were fighting to put together and vocalize everything churning inside him and couldn't. "And you thought Dean was bad. Dean wasn't bad, you were!"

"Sammy!" His eldest looked as shocked as John felt. "You, you shouldn't talk like that."

John could only stare at Sam, feeling suddenly out of balance, as if he were staring at a stranger rather than his own son. He grasped to say the first thing he thought of that might make sense. "Samuel, we're all tired, and your brother needs his rest. Let's you and me go back to the motel. We can talk about this there. We'll come visit Dean again later."

"No!" Sam ran around the bed, putting it between them, then leaned over it and wrapped his arms around Dean's legs. "I'm not leaving."

"_Sammy_!" Dean sat up with a panicked expression and stared at John. "Dad, he, he doesn't know what he's saying. He doesn't mean it!" Dean's was face flushed, his breath wheezing as it rushed in and out.

John made himself turn away from where Sam still clung to his brother's legs and quickly stepped up to Dean's side, trying to squelch the unreasonable stab of anger he felt at Sam's attitude. "It's all right. Calm yourself." He laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and unlike his youngest, Dean seemed comforted rather than insulted by the gesture. "Lay back. Rest. We're all exhausted. It's okay."

"I'm _staying_." Sam's tone was defiant, his voice loud, though no one had asked him anything.

John felt his eye twitch. He rubbed at his tired face, trying to buy some time to figure out he knew not what exactly. Maybe it would go away if he just left it alone. "Dean, is that alright with you?"

"Yeah, Dad…it's fine."

John heard the caution in his son's voice and wondered at it. Was he somehow losing them? Was he pushing things too far? Could he be hurting more than helping them? He rubbed at his face again. All he'd ever wanted to do was keep his children safe and close.

John nodded slowly and turned away, not sure he was ready to face these questions either. Mary would have known what to do. She would have known what to make of all this. How to fix it. His chest constricted, her loss feeling sharp and fresh as if it had happened only yesterday.

"I'll come back in a few hours." He made his way toward the door. Neither tried to stop him.

As John left the room and glanced back toward his sons, Sammy still with his arms wrapped tight about Dean's legs, his face hidden, Dean reaching forward to mess with Sam's hair, John had the horrible feeling that something important, somehow, had been broken that day. He'd let his sons down. He'd not done something Sam had expected and therefore disappointed him. He had the strange, doomed feeling that nothing would be the same between them again. And he hadn't the vaguest idea what to do about it.

Shaking his head. Telling himself he was just tired and imagining things, he let the door close behind him.

The End

Reedited and resplit from 2007 on 8/2009


End file.
